


Team Bubble Baths and Cozy Blankets

by pseudosmodingium



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bubble Bath, Canon Universe, Dean and Cas share a bath, Depression, Established Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Family Feels, M/M, Movie Night, Trauma, brief reference to Kelly's bathtub scene in 12x19, the bunker has a sofa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 01:04:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13939260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudosmodingium/pseuds/pseudosmodingium
Summary: Every member of the extended Winchester family is back home in the bunker, there’s a single bathtub and everyone gets to take a turn in it. And there’s a new tradition of movie nights, including a sofa and popcorn. Moments like these are precious.





	Team Bubble Baths and Cozy Blankets

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t let the title mislead you. I tried and failed again to write fluff. Kinda. There _is_ fluff but not until the last third of this fic.

Every now and then the combination of a bubble bath, a scented candle, some indie folk music and maybe a book—but a fiction one, anything else would be work—is exactly what Sam needs. What he needs to come down, to not lose his mind. Again.

The music is on a low volume. Just some background atmosphere; he can still hear the occasional leak of the faucet, the small sounds the foam makes as bubbles rub against each other or burst, the gentle slosh of the water in the tub every time he moves in it.

The bubble bath is lavender scented, the candle emits a discreet almond smell. A harmonica solo cuts into the steady resonance of guitar, fiddle, piano, singing saw and the brushed drum rhythm that carries on throughout the song.

Today, Sam didn’t bring a book with him. He feels like rather keeping his eyes closed instead and listening to his surroundings while occupying the bunker’s sole bathtub. But the thing is, without any means of distraction he’s easy prey for dark thoughts to catch up with him. Those tend to do this from time to time. All the time. Any time he’s got nothing else to do to keep his mind busy with. Mostly, he has, thank God. Or not. They strike when he can’t keep his eyes open any longer and he settles in his bed for the night or whenever the job allows him to get some sleep. And that’s when they find him, when he’s most vulnerable. Because he ought to lie still and let his consciousness drift away. Often he finds himself in this position, unmoving, on his stomach as he prefers to sleep, but he’s wide awake. Exhausted, but awake. And then the thoughts come, the memories, everything, collapsing down on him and crushing him under their weight. It gets hard for him to breathe so he turns around on his back but it doesn’t help. He sits up in his bed, basically swallows the cool air that enters his room through the Men of Letters’ elaborate venting system, is hungry for it. And it helps, a little bit at least. He heads for the kitchen to get a glass of water. Sometimes he’ll pass Cas sitting in the library, who’ll take note of him with a pitiful look on his face. The water helps, too. The cold fluid running down his throat reminds him that this is real, that this is where he is now and everything is in the past, in his head only.

When sleep finds him eventually, the dreams are next to haunt him. He’s had nightmares ever since he saw Jess die, burn, on the ceiling of their home. They got worse after his time in Hell, of course, more frequent, stronger, more insistent.

Actually, that’s not true. He’d used to get them when he was a child as well. After he first learned that monsters are real and that his father and brother are the people who hunt them. Who go after those creatures that bring nothing but death. Willingly. Why would anyone want this? When Sam got older, he understood dad and Dean had an unspeakable desire of revenge. And the feeling finally rubbed off on him after Jessica’s death. His mother was dead. Killing the yellow-eyed demon wouldn’t bring her back but then he grasped this thing was still out there murdering people he loved and he couldn’t lose anyone else. But he did, of course. Hunting, the life they lead, brings death and sorrow but from time to time he has hope. Hope, that what he does, what they do will protect other people from experiencing this sort of pain.

Sometimes he imagines how his life would be different had his mother never died that fateful night. His father wouldn’t have lost it, wouldn’t have gone on a monster killing spree, dragging his sons into a life that barely knows happiness, safety. He might still have met Jess, had a future together with her. Or if they hadn’t stayed together, he’s met someone else. Maybe someone like Eileen. Probably not _Eileen_ because she was born into this life as well. They wouldn’t have met if it weren’t for his job. But someone like her. And they could have been happy together. Same for his brother. What kind of person Dean would have grown to become if he hadn’t had to take care for him ever since they were kids. With a loving parent to look up to, sans the drill they were educated in.

He knows there’s no point in pondering what could have been. Such thoughts only expose him to things like djinns, put him on top of their menu. It is what it is and Sam already learned that you can’t possibly change the past. Not without ruining the present for someone else.

He takes a deep breath and goes under. A comforting warmth embraces him, swallows him whole and Sam feels content for the moments he’s down here, under water, where he can hear nothing but his heartbeat. He’s too focused on holding his breath to think about anything but this, the tranquility beneath the surface. He catches his hair at the back of his head where it floats, unrestrained by gravity. It feels soft and silky, like feathers. He’s a bird under here. Floating, flying, what’s the difference anyway. There’re still creatures they haven’t encountered yet, that remain a mystery to them like to every other person. He’s always liked _The Little Mermaid._ The fairy tale, not the Disney movie. A kind of tragic he can relate to. The curiosity, the exploration of the unknown. The loss of love, the betrayal. He’s no stranger to all of these. And the protagonist was young and innocent, just like he used to be. It didn’t end well for her and Sam supposes it won’t for him either.

He shoots out of the water, almost forgot that he needs actual air to breathe. He takes big gulps into his lungs, pants. There will always be a threat. It never ends.

He reaches for his iPod and turns up the volume, starts singing along, anything not to have to think. That’s also why he gets up early if he can find the strength, and lately often he can’t. ‘Cause as soon as he’s awake the wheels in his head begin to turn, to work and then there are thoughts again. So he gets up, goes for a run, busies himself with making breakfast, followed by work, whatever needs to be done, a hunt, research, you name it.

His mind is racing again and Sam needs to remind himself to breathe, to concentrate on the different scents of his bath, the candle, the characteristics of water, the foam on top of it.

 

This is a first for him. One of many. Jack’s never taken a bath before. Showered he has, yes. Not because he actually needs to. He does it because it’s such a very human thing to do. Sam and Dean do it, a daily ritual. When he was still new to this world, newer than he is now, he copied them in doing this because he’d soon grasped that getting yourself clean makes you a little bit more human, even if you aren’t really. This is also why he changes and washes his clothes. He needn’t do it. He could wear the same things day in, day out, like Castiel. For his surrogate father his suit and trench coat have become more of a uniform, he supposes. In the constant uncertainty they live in his ensemble is one of the few steady factors, something he can always rely on. And he, Jack, can rely on Castiel.

“This is funny,” he says aloud, his voice resonating from the bathroom walls. With intent he studies his foam-covered hand. He doesn’t even feel it; the white compound of bubbles doesn’t seem to weigh anything. He rubs his fingers against each other, making the foam disappear. _This smells good,_ he thinks, and sticks out the tip of his tongue to taste it. Sam told him it’s called ‘lavender.’ He hasn’t tasted lavender before so he’s curious. A sudden puff escapes him as soon as his taste buds have forwarded the information to his brain, blowing away wisps of foam.

“Disgusting,” he says. It’s weird how something can smell so nice yet taste so awful. The world he was born into never ceases to amaze him. From all the worlds he has seen already in his very young life, this one is still his favorite.

It’s strange that he has never experienced water like this before, although he was born by a lake. Jack wonders what swimming feels like then tells himself not to hurry. _Baby steps,_ he thinks, though technically he never even was a baby.

Originally, people used to take baths to get clean, as far as he’s heard. However, nowadays it’s become less and less of a cleansing process. Everyone’s busy, no-one’s got time anymore for something as simple as this. Taking a bath, even owning a bathtub seems to have become a luxury. In movies he’s usually seen women taking baths, considering it some sort of reward, a retreat from their stressful lives between job and family, mostly getting interrupted anyway by children loudly entering the room or a phone ringing. Or, when they were actually able to enjoy it, they were rich women. So baths and wealth seem to be connected somehow, Jack reckons. _Strange._

He kind of remembers his mother taking a bath while he was still inside her. Though she had been full of what he now knows was fear for the preceding months, she felt at peace at the time. He doesn’t exactly recall what happened but for some reason this was the first time he really connected with her, when she first became aware of his powers and what amount of good he was capable of doing with those. Jack misses his mom. He will never stop trying to make her proud. Luckily, he’s got Castiel and the Winchesters to help him, to show him what’s right and what isn’t. Sometimes, though, he thinks they oftentimes don’t even know themselves what that is exactly. But together, they’re going to find out.

He takes a deep breath, holds it—because human beings can’t breathe under water—and lets his head sink beneath the surface. His eyes are wide open. He’s looking towards what seems like another world beyond the water. It’s funny how his current view reminds him a little of how it had looked inside Kaia’s head. He’s able to discern there’s something out there but can’t quite grasp it. He’ll have to break through the barrier again to truly see what’s out there. But, in this case, he already knows. Because this is home, where his mother used to live, where his family is.

 

Mary can’t even remember the last time she has taken a bath. Must’ve been before Sammy’s birth, she assumes. So, more than thirty years ago, kinda. Well-deserved and much overdue then.

Compared to the limited resources of the people in Apocalypse World, this is an unthinkable luxury. They barely even had access to drinking water, let alone water to shower or at least wash their hands and faces with. Everything there was dirty and smelled. Antiseptics hardly existed anymore, so cleaning an angel-inflicted wound was almost impossible. The lucky ones were those who died on the instant when heavenly armies struck. Getting away with injuries was not the favorable outcome.

Yet, it was overwhelming to see that, despite their misery, the people hadn’t lost their humanity. If even, most of them appeared more human than some of the people here, in this world.

After her return, Mary felt like she couldn’t shower enough. Dust was everywhere and she couldn’t seem to wash it all away. Even after a week home she’d still find sand on her pillow in the morning. The smell wouldn’t wear off either. She hadn’t been able to wash herself for weeks or change her clothes. There was the ever-present dirt of the alternate world that clung to her clothes, her skin, but also the stink that one develops while being locked into a cage, then a dungeon, for days.

A woman in Bobby’s camp was kind enough to wash her clothes when she and Jack had first arrived there, so the nastiest grime was already gone when they made it out, yet she felt very self-conscious when Dean drove them home that day. Her own nose had long become indifferent to the worst of her odor but she couldn’t stop worrying about what her sons might think of it. That’s what happens when you spend months in literal Armageddon, Mary told herself, they’ve probably been exposed to worse, but her inner anxious voice wouldn’t shut up about it for the entire ride back to the bunker. As soon as Dean had killed the engine, she fled the car, informing them she was headed for the shower.

Afterwards, she felt like it had barely made a difference, so she stepped back inside before having even left the bathroom. She soaped and rinsed multiple times until she felt somewhat better about her bodily hygiene.

 _Now this is different,_ she thinks and sighs, gliding deeper into the warm water. Her hair is loose and the tips are already getting wet but it doesn’t matter. She slides further down the enamel at her back until the surface is only an inch under her nose where it’s being tickled by the foam floating on the water.

Mary remembers now. She was already pregnant with Sam. It was a Sunday and John had taken Dean to the park so she could have some quiet time to herself. Dean was a good kid but also very lively and attached to her. Barely an hour passed without something he needed to show or tell his mommy and this could be exhausting. Soon she was going to have two of those, she thought. And twice as many kids meant more expenses which meant more hours John would spend at the garage and even less time he would spend looking after the kids.

She lifts her chin slightly so her mouth breaks the surface and blows away the foam before she can ends up snorting it. She looks at her fingers. As a hunter she’s always kept her nails short. The longer they are, the more dirt will get stuck underneath them and killing monsters is a job that basically calls for a broken nail on a daily basis. But maybe she’ll get a manicure anyway— _treat yo self,_ as they say nowadays.

She rubs some foam on her arm, then the other, hoping it will make the scent of the bubble bath last longer on her skin. Actually, as a hunter, emanating a too noticeable smell can be disastrous. A neutral soap and shampoo is usually the best choice but Mary’s decided to take some time off. It sounds egoistic, sure, but the monsters can wait. Let someone else handle it. She wouldn’t say this out loud around her sons, especially Dean can be very judgmental when it comes to fulfilling one’s duty, but she has every right to it. She’s just returned from a supernatural warzone where she was being tortured for months. Before that she was burned alive next to her baby. If anyone is entitled to some downtime, she is.

 

“Is the water okay?” Dean asks.

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel says, sitting comfortable between Dean’s legs with his back against his chest. Dean has tried to persuade him to take a joint bath for days but somehow other members of their family managed to get there first every time.

Today, though, Cas finally found the tub unoccupied and called for Dean who entered the room in no time, panting. “What’re waiting for,” he said, “turn on the water,” and Cas obliged. Dean retrieved a bottle from the cabinet and poured some strong smelling liquid into the tub that quickly made foam bubble atop the steadily rising surface.

“Don’t tell Sam about this,” Dean said. Cas wasn’t sure what exactly he was referring to. Taking a couple’s bath, taking a bath in general, using Sam’s bubble bath, who knows. Despite knowing him inside out, Castiel thinks this man will always be some kind of mystery to him. “Earth to Castiel, hello,” Dean said, “come on, get naked!” Cas realized Dean had already stripped down to his underwear.

Dean’s right hand is lazily stroking Cas’s chest, the left resting on his shoulder. He is unusually quiet. Cas lifts his left hand out of the water and places it on Dean’s who immediately laces their fingers together. Then he lightly kisses Cas’s neck. “I love you,” he whispers into the hair on the back of his head, evoking a gentle smile on the angel’s face.

“I know,” he says and Dean huffs a small laugh.

Then Dean begins to collect foam with both hands, lifting them to Cas’s face.

“What are you doing?” he asks and turns slightly so he’s able to look Dean in the eye.

“Shh,” Dean says, focused on creating a structure on Castiel’s cheeks and chin. When he’s done, he scoots back a little to marvel his work. Cas doesn’t say anything to not get foam into his mouth. “I can’t believe my boyfriend is Santa Claus!” He fakes to be scandalized until he can’t hold back a giggle. Cas doesn’t look very amused.

“Okay, okay, I’ll also make myself a beard,” he says and applies foam to his face as good as possible. “How do I look?” he says then, barely opening his mouth while he speaks as not to swallow any foam.

“Like Methuselah,” Cas mumbles behind his beard, leading to Dean snorting away his own mustache, then he leans in and kisses Cas. He pulls back for a moment to wipe away their beards and presses his lips against Castiel’s once more.

“Santa, I’ve been very naughty this year,” he says after they’ve made out for a while, a mischievous smile on his face. One of his hands disappears beneath the surface.

“Dean, you’re aware that your entire family uses this tub, right?”

The hand moves back up. “Mood killer,” he says but doesn’t seem to be very upset. Instead he leans back again, continuing to just hug Cas from behind, nuzzling dark hair.

 

Cas is sitting in the middle of the sofa, Dean next to him with his legs draped over Cas’s lap. They’re sharing a blanket that Dean keeps crumbling popcorn onto as they watch _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom_ for the nth time together.

After some time, Cas senses they’re not alone any longer. “Jack,” he says. “Come sit with us.”

The boy seems hesitant but then Dean growls, “what’re waiting for, kid?” and he’s already learned that his tone is no way uninviting, so he rounds the sofa and takes a seat next to Cas. Dean passes him the popcorn bowl and Jack gladly takes a handful, silently munching it as all three stare at the flat-screen in front of them.

Dean had originally furnished the room with only two threadbare, suspiciously smelling recliners but Mary had insisted he throw them out and replace them with a sofa. “You realize there are more than two people living here?” she’d said. That was the whole point, Dean had later confided in Cas. Movie nights were supposed to be just for the two of them but he had to admit that this was awfully selfish and eventually came to the conclusion that family movie nights where actually a nice thing.

“Oh, Indy!” Mary exclaims from the entryway. “Wait, is this a sequel?” she says after having taken a seat besides Dean.

“It’s the second movie of the series,” Dean explains.

“There’s even more?” she asks, surprised. Jack holds out the popcorn for her. “Oh, thanks. Harrison Ford is so hot. Or was, I guess. Is he still?”

“ _Mom!”_

“What? Am I not allowed to find people attractive?” She shrugs before putting some popcorn into her mouth.

“You and your mother seem to have a similar taste in men,” Cas throws in and Dean’s head turns beet-read. “We never should’ve gotten this sofa,” he mutters under his breath.

“Oh hey, now there’s everyone,” says Sam who’s also just appeared in the room. This was supposed Dean’s personal zone. Now they’re all here. He untangles from Cas’s lap and heads over to the mini fridge. “Who wants a beer?” Sam and his mom raise their hands, eyes remaining glued to the screen.

“Thanks,” they both say as Dean hands them their bottles. Before sitting again, he passes Cas his beer to hold for a sec and retrieves another blanket from the closet.

“Here,” he says as he drapes it over his mom and brother.

“Thank you, Dean,” Mary says and places a kiss on his cheek when he’s returned to his former position on the sofa. His first instinct is to wipe it off with his sleeve but he isn’t a child anymore. He can totally handle his mom kissing his cheek while they’re around his brother, boyfriend and…other brother, nephew, step-son? Neither is paying attention to the gesture anyway. Cas gives him back his beer and the Winchesters clink their bottles together. Then he sits up again, straightening the blanket on his legs so the end covers Jack’s lap as well. The kid looks at him with big, appreciating eyes and Dean can’t help but smile back for a brief moment.

So, family movie night is officially a thing now, he supposes and he doesn’t really mind if he’s being honest.

**Author's Note:**

> I always do the beard-thing when I take bubble baths, like, once a year or so.


End file.
